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The Dead of Night

With homage to Ian Fleming's "The Living Daylights"

"I understand that you know a bit about music?"

Kyroo Echos squirmed in the antique Queen Ann armchair opposite the Director of the Foreign Operations eXecuive, Tancred "Tanner" Williams. This was the first time that he had been summoned to the office of the great golden fox that ran the Academy and the opening question had surprised him.

"Well, I played trumpet for a while, both jazz and classical. I had to play both above and below the scale." Kyroo realized that the Director might not know what that meant so he stopped talking.

"I have a subscription to the National Arts Centre Orchestra, and what has always fascinated me is the different types of instruments they use in the concerts." The Director stood up and wandered around his office as he spoke. He was slightly taller than Kyroo's six-foot-two, but he was built like Arnold Schwarzenegger, all muscle. Kyroo had heard that his nickname came from his habit of dying his fur lighter to make it look like he was spending all of his time on the beach. "For example, I noted that one of the trumpets had valves like the type we had in our high school band while another had keys, like a French horn." Williams held up his paws as if he was holding an invisible trumpet and twiddled his digits various ways to demonstrate the difference.

"The one with upright valves was probably a B-flat instrument." Kyroo informed him. "It's the most common type. The upright valves are called piston valves. The other one was likely a C trumpet with rotary valves. It's the most popular for orchestral playing. It's got a brighter, livelier sound. But for Jazz you want a B-flat trumpet."

Williams leaned on the desk and looked straight into the young arctic fox's eyes. "Tell me more."

Kyroo had heard around the farm that the big fox was gay, but he did not feel that the Director was hitting up on him; for one thing everyone knew that the fox was in a relationship with the little lemur who forged the documents the agents used. But he still felt uncomfortable because he could not figure out where this conversation was going.

"Well, you have little piccolo trumpets, usually with four valves. Then there are trumpets keyed for A, D, E, E-flat, and F. They each have subtle differences in the tubing and valve arrangements. You can find trumpets in G; they are called soprano bugles and are usually found in military bands. You also have your bass trumpet, which is usually played by the trombone player because they are in the same pitch, and the rare slide trumpet." His voice trailed off. What else could one say about trumpets?

"Fascinating." The Director commented as he slid back into his chair in one easy, graceful motion. "I can see that you are just the agent for the mission I have in mind. Report to Silver, who will fill you in on the details."

Kyroo was confused. His supervising agent, Delores "Babydoll" Johnson, would typically get the mission briefing and pass the pertinent details on to him, unless ....

"Excuse me, Sir ..."

"Yes?"

"Am I correct in assuming that you are sending me on a solo mission?"

The Director smiled kindly. "Not exactly solo, but not with anyone else from the Academy. You will be more of a loaner than a loner." He laughed. "No off you go." Williams made a dismissive gesture by hanging his paw from the wrist and flicking it toward Kyroo. It would have looked effeminate if the fox's arms were not roughly as big around as Kyroo's thighs. "Silver will tell all."

"Yes, sir." Kyroo stood and pushed his chair back carefully. Everything in the Director's office was an antique and you didn't want to piss off the guy who issued death warrants for a living by scratching one of his prized possessions. He turned and let himself out by the solid oak door that was covered in padded green leather for soundproofing on the outside.

"Monsieur Silver weel see you in zee briefing room." The words came from the Executive Secretary shared by the Director and Silver, his Chief of Staff. She was a voluptuous white poodle with black ears and, so it was rumoured, black spots on her derriere. Kyroo had heard a lot about her form the bartender in the agent's lounge, and would have liked to linger see if she really was the ultimate consumer of male flesh that Gray Muzzle claimed she was, but he could not keep the Chief of Staff waiting. He hurried down the hall to the briefing room.

He found the door to the briefing room open. The Chief of Staff, a well built silver fox known only by his codename 'Silver' was sitting to one side of the head of the conference table. The scar tissue on the back of his left paw and that bisecting his left eye reflected the bright ceiling lights.

"Close the door." Silver told him. Kyroo obeyed and then began to pull back a chair at the near end of the table. The silver fox motioned him closer, indicating the seat opposite his own. "There's just the two of us, and as the agent being briefed you should sit near the front anyway." Kyroo complied, feeling a little nervous.

Silver did something to a console in front of him. A giant flat screen monitor at the front of the room came to life. On it was a map of Europe with the NATO countries in blue, Russia and the members of its Economic Union in Red, and those countries belonging to neither in white. Several areas, the Ukraine, Georgia and a couple of other countries bordering Russia, had a red striped pattern over parts of them. Kyroo knew those areas to be under Russia's control, either directly or through proxies. The information was in the news and also in the daily intelligence briefs that each agent was required to read when not away on a mission.

"As you know," Silver began, "Putin has been getting bolder and bolder in its attempts to rebuild 'Greater Russia'. The EU, NATO and other nations have decided to counter his military actions by targeting Russia's economy. Sanctions have been levied on key sectors of the economy and on the billionaires that support Putin. But in order to make these sanctions effective we need to collect intelligence on what effect that they are having, if any."

The map was replaced by a street scene. The buildings looked old. Kyroo guessed that it was from somewhere in Europe. Several creatures were strolling on the cobblestoned street. One of them had been blurred out to the point where Kyroo could not tell what species it was, let alone its features.

"We had a contact n the Russian ministry of Finance that Johnson had cultivated before leaving Moscow. We refer to him as number 727. He has been sending us regular updates on the effectiveness of our economic measures and dictating weaknesses in their financial system that we can exploit. He does all this out of gratitude for Johnson and in exchange for the occasional tryst with her. He is currently in Switzerland, where he had arranged a rendezvous with our agent some months ago."

Having sampled Babydoll's expertise in bed, and on the couch, the lounge pool table, several closets and in the limbs of an ornamental pine tree in the nearby arboretum, Kyroo could appreciate the desire that the Russian contact must have for her. But if it was a simple matter of meeting Johnson in some neutral country ever few months, where did he come in?

Silver saw the wrinkled brow and knew what was going through the young arctic fox's head. "Johnson will not be joining him in Switzerland. 727 has been discovered by the FSB and narrowly managed to escape before they could arrest him. But he's not in the clear yet. Russia has issued an international arrest warrant, claiming banking infractions, something the Swiss take seriously. They are refusing to let him leave the country until they can hold an extradition hearing, which, with the Russian's trumped up evidence, he will probably lose. He's waiting in Lucerne for us to extract him."

"And you want me to bring him out?" Kyroo was surprised; such an operation would normally be assigned to a seasoned senior agent.

Silver looked amused. "Good God, no! One of our senior teams will take care of that. But they have to keep their distance until the right moment. Meanwhile, 727 is vulnerable. We have discovered that the FSB is not willing to wait for the extradition process, they intend to silence him before we can whisk him away, this weekend to be precise."

The screen changed, now showing a large modern-looking waterfront building.

"This is the famous Lucerne Concert Hall." Silver informed him. The screen changed again showing the interior with its high ceiling, large stage and five tiers of balconies above the Orchestra level seating. "At midnight Saturday it will host a special concert entitled Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, which is also the title of Mozart's Serenade No. 13 for strings in G minor, A little Night Music. The concert will mainly feature pieces in the 'Night Music' style of the Hungarian composer Bela Bartok, as well as the title piece and other night-themed compositions, like Night on Bald Mountain, The Music of the Night from the Phantom and such."

"This concert has been sold out for months, but 727, a music lover, managed to get his paws on a pair of tickets for some very good seats, at the front of the first loge on the second level, right by the stage. The orchestra that is performing is one of Russia's best, Moscow's Mikhail Mishi Symphony orchestra. It is composed entirely of rodents from the former Soviet Republics, mice, to be precise. Brezhnev thought it would make a good propaganda tool when it was formed in the seventies; what can be less threatening than a bunch of mice playing Tchaikovsky? They survived the Communist era thanks to their talent, and a general interest in the West of all things Russian after the breakup of the Soviet Union."

"Sounds like a nice evening he had planned." Kyroo commented, still waiting to hear what it had to do with him.

"Yes, it is the one place that the FSB know that he will show up in public, and they plan to kill him during the concert."

"Do we know how?"

"No. But we know who."

Kyroo's eyebrows went up. "Who?"

The screen went blank. "A former KGB assassin known as 'The Trigger'. Unfortunately that is all that we know about him, or her, for that matter. The Trigger is travelling with the orchestra, but whether he or she is posing as a musician, a stagepaw or part of the management we have no idea. That is where you come in."

Kyroo leaned forward in his chair. Silver continued. "We can get you there Friday afternoon, just before the company arrives to set up. You will be operating under the cover of a booking agent for the Met in New York, which fits your American accent. The conductor, and principal partner in the company, has already been advised of your coming. They have never played the Met so he will gladly introduce you to the musicians and staff and show off a bit. Of course you will want to stay for the rehearsal and, if you play your cards right, you should be able to get him to give you a tour of the concert hall also. With your background in security, close protection and music you should be able to figure out where the Trigger will have to shoot from and pick up anything odd with the orchestra."

"Not that I don't want this opportunity, but wouldn't it be simpler to warn him off, have him skip the concert?"

Silver shook his head. "It would be out of character and the FSB would know that their plan had been compromised. The source that gave us that information is more valuable to us than one that is already burnt. We owe 727 and will do everything in our power to keep him alive and get him out, but not at the risk of exposing someone so deep. Keep that in mind when you are there. Keep your counter-moves subtle. We can't have the opposition suspecting that we were on to them."

"So, I should casually put myself between the shooter and his target, take a bullet for 727?" Kyroo said sarcastically.

Silver shrugged. "If that's what you have to do, sure. Why not?"

Kyroo could think of several reasons, but before he could list them Silver spoke again.

"There is one other thing." Silver's mouth had turned down. He was not happy about what he was about to say. "There is a Canadian Intelligence Officer in Switzerland, a bit of a tailhole from Army Intelligence named Captain Paul Bringer. He's a skunk. He's good enough as a liaison officer but he's fairly useless on an operation such as this. Still, we have to follow protocol, and he is the senior Canadian in that country so you will report to him while you are there. Try not to let him interfere too much, least he give the game away, okay?"

"Uh, okay." Kyroo was not quite sure how he would accomplish that, but he had dealt with army types before, while working security for aid organizations in Africa and impoverished areas of Asia, and he had found them to be generally helpful, if somewhat blunt in their approach to any problem.

"Good. Now, let's go over the details of how you are going to get into Switzerland."

* * * * * * * *

That had been two days ago. The rest of the briefing had passed in a blur. The most significant thing that Kyroo could recall afterwards was that it was the first meeting between him and the Chief of Staff where the silver fox had not threatened to kill him.

After they were done he had been hustled to see Joel, the forger, to get his fake identity papers, Rusty, the combat instructor, to brush up on improvised killing techniques, and then to see Kain Algorath to get the electronics he would need for the mission.

Kyroo spent his last hours at the Academy studying everything that was known about all the Trigger's confirmed or suspected assassinations. The former KGB operative favoured aimed weapons but not exclusively firearms. Compressed gas weapons and other devices that propelled darts showed up regularly in the assassin's repertoire. They were quiet, compact, easy to disguise and they were usually poisoned to ensure a kill. After studying the seating plan and a 3-D model that Joel had created from the architect's plans Kyroo had a feeling that the Trigger would use something similar for this hit. And that meant that the attack would most likely come from the stage, the wings or the loft. He forwarded that information to the Intelligence Liaison Officer on the secure line before leaving for the airport. Silver had arranged a military flight that would take him directly to a Swiss Air Force base called Emmen, just outside of Lucerne. The Swiss had graciously agreed to forego the formalities of customs and immigration, but they did search his baggage and pat him down for weapons before allowing him into the small waiting area.

The skunk from Army Intelligence met him in the waiting area. He walked straight up so Kyroo surmised that Silver had sent his photo on ahead. The junior officer was smart enough not to wear his uniform for the meeting but he had done nothing to disguise his short-cropped military-style hair or bearing. After looking the young arctic fox over, noting the long hair and designer clothes that Kyroo had been issued for this mission the skunk snorted in disgust and addressed him without offering a paw.

"My name is Captain Paul Bringer." The skunk announced as if he was issuing a challenge. "And you are on my turf, so you will clear any messages or actions through me first. Do I make myself clear?"

"Of course, Captain." Silver was right, the guy was a bit of a tailhole. Kyroo hoped that calling him by his rank would mollify the uptight soldier. "And I apologize for my appearance, but I had to fit the part, you know?"

The officer relaxed slightly. Perhaps working with this Yank transplant would not be as not as bad as he feared. The fellow did look to be fit, despite the frou-frou fur styling. Bringer had been ordered to cooperate fully with the F.O.X. agent, but there was no harm in exerting the authority of being the senior service in the region, was there?

"Right. Got your bags? I've got a car outside." Bringer spun on toe and heel like he was parading on Parliament Hill and headed for the doors.

Kyroo was glad to see that the car was a nondescript rental. He was afraid that the skunk would bring his personal vehicle, which could be bugged, since Bringer seemed to have no sense of operational security. He broke the silence as they left the base and joined the traffic heading into the old city.

"Did you get a chance to take a look at that material I sent over?"

"Yes, I did." Bringer answered curtly.

"So, what did think?"

"Ridiculous. Blow guns, poison darts. You F.O.X. agents have been living in your Spy vs. Spy fantasy land too long. A real professional would approach this like a military campaign. Do a reconnaissance, conduct mission planning, time appreciations, alternate courses of action. Then apply overwhelming force to subdue the enemy."

"The, uh, Trigger doesn't seem like the 'overwhelming force' type. And you don't need a very powerful weapon for the ranges involved. But, hey, maybe I overlooked something. How would you do it if it were your job to hit this guy?"

"Well, in the Special Forces the standard is two teams of snipers with spotters. I'd, uh, put them on the rooftops of the buildings opposite the concert hall."

Kyroo did not point out that the entrance faced the lake and there were no buildings, let alone tall ones, opposite it. Instead he asked "How long were you with the Special Forces?"

"Well, I, uh, never actually ... I was posted to the same base as ...."

They finished the trip to the concert hall in silence.

They arrived at the waterfront facility to find the stagepaws already unpacking the instruments and stage settings that were too large to be carried on the plane. The musicians were tuning their instruments and adjusting their music stands. They introduced themselves to a harried muskrat carrying a clipboard and she asked them to wait while she went to get Mikhail Mishi. Kyroo used the time to study the company, to see if there was anyone who did not fit in; who was lolling about with nothing to do while all the rest were busy.

None seemed to fit the bill. The stage crew were all busy, joking with each other and he musicians as they assembled the larger instruments and set up the chairs for the orchestra. The musicians smiled and chatted and tested their instruments, making minor adjustments to strings that may have loosened in the airplane or warmed up brass tubes that had grown cold in the cargo hold. Some stood alone, but there was more than one like that, and they all looked to be lost in that inner world that musicians go to where the only thing they can hear is the sound of their own playing. The hall was a jumble of dozens of beautiful, unconnected noises.

An older mouse approached them with his paw out. "Mister Somerset?" The mouse inquired.

Kyroo was travelling with papers in the name of David Somerset, an actual booking agent from the New York Metropolitan Opera House who had died suddenly some months before in a traffic accident. His Facebook page and LinkedIn accounts were still active however, and thanks to Kain Algorath they now featured photos of Kyroo. All references to the original Somerset's death had been erased from the web, so anyone Goggling the name would only find the doctored social media sites.

"Yes." Kyroo answered without hesitation. "You must be Mikhail, so good to meet you." They shook paws, and then Kyroo gestured to Bringer. "This is my driver, Paul." It was the agreed on cover, which would allow Bringer to remain in the hall and observe the company while the conductor and owner toured Kyroo around, but he saw Bringer stiffen at the introduction. Kyroo had no time for bruised egos however.

"I'm sure our people at the Met have told you what we're looking for." He said to the short conductor as he put a friendly arm around his shoulders. "Perhaps you we can discuss what your company can bring to our fall program. And, of course, I'll want to see the rehearsals as well as the actual performance."

The mouse was nodding in agreement, hardly able to believe his luck to be auditioning here. The Lucerne concert hall had the best acoustics south of Moscow. A jug band would sound good here, and his orchestra was better than good, it was almost great. And if they played the Met he could demand higher fees and replace a few borderline musicians with better ones. As it was, he was tempted to have one in particular sit out this performance, but he darned not. He would have to answer to higher powers if he did. With a silent sigh he led the representative from the Met down toward the stage.

"We are a well established orchestra, one that has played many venues in the west." The conductor began as he toured Kyroo around the stage, introducing the principal staff and musicians. They must have been warned that an important guest was coming because they were all polite and gracious despite the interruption. Kyroo met the concert master, a mouse as old as Mishi who proudly showed off his Stradivarius, and the First Seat cello. Then he was introduced to the mice that played the violas and the basses. Some were old and claimed to have played with the orchestra since its inception. Others were younger, replacements for those who had died or retired. All spoke with eastern European accents as the original members were drawn from the Soviet republics or Warsaw Pact States and the new ones were from Russia and a few of the countries in its Economic Union.

Coming back around he shook paws with Hans, from the former state of East Germany. He played the Tenor-Bass trombone. Then Vladimir, a Russian who played a C trumpet. Natasha and Igor both played French horn, while Myshka, Greta and Bridget all played flute. Percussion came next but Kyroo was so full of names by then the new ones just flowed over him. After that Mishi introduced the choir master and a number of the members of the chorus.

"This is such a wonderful hall," Kyroo said nonchalantly at the end of the tour, "which I understand that you have played a number of times. You must know it inside out by now. Would you have tie to give me a tour?"

Mishi looked at his watch and frowned. "We have a full dress rehearsal in thirty minutes and I must prepare. You know how it is; a professional company must be disciplined, eh? But I'm sure that I can get the concert hall manager to give you a tour, then you can see the rehearsal from different parts of the hall, get the full experience from the audience's point of view, eh?" Mishi gestured to a middle-aged Saint Bernard who was hovering in the wings. The canine hurried over, only too happy to show off his hall to someone from the world famous Metropolitan.

Kyroo gave Bringer a sign that a casual observer might interpret as one an employer might give to a hired paw to relax and take a break. It was actually a pre-arranged signal for the military skunk to stay in place and keep an eye on the orchestra while Kyroo checked out the hall.

The eager Saint Bernard pointed out the features of the hall that gave it such fine acoustics and explained how the sight and sound lines to the audience were maximized by the oval design of the interior. Kyroo nodded and injected exclamations of wonder and awe at the appropriate times. He certainly seemed fascinated by the hall, the canine thought, as his eyes roamed to every nook and cranny and the fox paid particular attention to the view from the loges.

"You can almost touch the performers on stage." Kyroo commented as they stood in the front of the first loge on the second level.

"Yes." The big dog said proudly. "It makes for a most, how do you say it in English? A most intimate experience for the patrons of the arts."

"A view to die for." Kyroo mumbled. He calculated the angles from the loft and noted which lights would blind anyone down here as potential firing points. Then he checked to see which of the wings it was exposed to. Finally he looked down on the stage to see which musicians were facing this way. Half the orchestra was looking his way, though they were focused on the gyrations of the conductor at the moment. He could see the concentrated looks of the cello players, the slightly rapturous expressions on the viola players, and the frowns of the bass players as they followed a particularly difficult passage. He noted that those of the string players that were married wore their wedding bands on their right paw so it would not clink against the fingerboard while they played.

Further to his left the brass section rested while the strings and the woodwinds took up the melody. One or two glanced his way, but they kept half an eye on their sheet music while doing so. As one those tasked with flipping the pages turned the sheets and a moment later they all took up their instruments in preparation for the crescendo of the current piece.

Kyroo had seen enough. None of it was conclusive, but a few areas bore further investigation. He supposed that the assassin would want to rehearse under similar conditions to the hit, which meant that the creature was probably in place right now, checking the field of fire and the lighting. Either he or Bringer would have to sneak in between the rehearsal and concert and check out the likely spots for signs that someone been preparing a firing position. For now the best he could do was to join Bringer in the orchestra seats and lend his eyes to the surveillance of the musicians.

"See anything interesting?" He asked the skunk as he slid into the seat beside him.

"I think I may have found our assassin, or assassiness, rather." Bringer said smugly.

"Oh, really?" Kyroo had his doubts. He would not expect a professional like the Trigger to stand out enough for someone like Captain Bringer to pick her out so easily.

"Yes. See that young mouse in behind the cellos?" He cocked his head toward centre stage. "The one with the silver flute? Her playing has been off since they started, lagging behind the rest. Often she does not look at her sheet music or at the conductor. He has had to tap his baton to get her attention twice already. And the others look at her with resentment when she hits a sour note."

Kyroo could guess that Bringer would be familiar with looks of resentment. He studied the female mouse closely. She was on the small side, and looked more flustered than dangerous. Bringer had been right, she was terrible at keeping up with the music and hit a few clunkers on her silver flute while they watched. She was far below the kill level of the rest of the orchestra, and the sidelong glances from the seasoned players did indeed hold resentment, as well as anger. Could that be because the FSB had forced them to take someone more skilled at assassination than music into their midst?

She was one of the ones that he had met on stage, and he recalled how young she was; too young to be a seasoned KGB assassin from Silver's era. But intelligence was never one hundred percent accurate, and like the young musicians that were playing their hearts out on stage, she could have replaced the aging assassin, assuming the nickname and reputation of the older agent. Her, well, mousy appearance could all be an elaborate ruse. And a flute would make a good blow gun. From where she was sitting the open end would be pointing right at the first loge.

There was something else about her that was tugging at the back of his mind. Something about her appearance. He let his eyes roam over her. She wore a conservative black dress, just like the rest of the females in the orchestra. She had black low heeled shoes, just like all the rest, and she wore no jewellery on her paws that might interfere with the playing of her instrument. What was it? He squinted, and then he had it. He checked the other females to make sure. That was it, all the rest were showing a little cleavage as their dresses were styled to look like formal ball gowns. But the mouse named Myshka was wearing a dress with no cleavage at all. In fact, it came up almost to her jaw line in a frilly lace collar that obscured the fur around her neck. Around her shoulders she wore a black silk scarf, the only member of the orchestra to do so. Now, what could be the significance of that? He wondered.

He surveyed the rest of the orchestra. A few of the violins were close enough to the loge to be used as improvised bows but were facing the wrong way. The cellos, violas and basses were too far for the accuracy required. The other two flautists never looked away from their sheet music except to glance at the conductor. The brass section's instruments were pointing right at the loge when they were up for playing, but none of them seemed out of place. Hans, with his special trombone, was particularly good. He hardly ever looked the music but rather kept his eyes on the conductor and occasionally glanced around the hall the while keeping perfect time and tempo.

On the other paw, instead of watching the conductor or concentrating on her sheet music the little mouse kept casting surreptitious glances Kyroo's way. _ Does she suspect that we're on to her?_ He wondered. The rehearsal came to an end. The conductor dismissed the bulk of the orchestra, but he detained the faulty female flautist in an angry whispered tirade.

"She looks awfully young, but it's worth checking out." Kyroo whispered to the captain. "They have several hours of free time between the rehearsal and the concert. What say you check out the likely firing positions for signs of preparation while I see if I can't find out something about her? With your military background you'll likely notice things I would miss in the sniper's nest." Kyroo managed to deliver the manipulative lie with an innocent expression on his face. Silver would have been proud. He passed a list of the likely spots to the Captain

"Yes. Concurrent activity with the experts taking the more important tasks is a solid military principal." The skunk almost preened. "I'll see to these while you dig up some gossip. We'll meet back here in two hours to compare notes. That would be, twenty hundred and forty two minutes local time. Got it?" With Kyroo's affirmative nod the skunk was off.

Kyroo got up and headed down the aisle toward the stage. Mishi had stomped off, leaving the small female alone on the stage. She was looking resentfully after the conductor. Probably plotting his death as soon as she finishes her assigned killing, he supposed.

"Hello." He said to attract her attention.

Her head whipped round and her mouth opened into a little "o". She almost dropped her flute, but caught it after batting it around between her paws a bit.

Kyroo kept the welcoming smile on his face but inside he was frowning. She was either the best actress he had ever met, or she was genuinely a klutz. He supposed that even a concert flautist could be a little shy and clumsy off stage, but she certainly did not have enough skill to have earned a place in such a prestigious orchestra. A master assassin, however, would have to be able to pass unsuspected in any situation, and seeing her reaction no one would suspect that she was a trained killer. He would have to see if he could penetrate that shell, if there was one, and catch her off guard.

"Do you speak English?" He asked, turning the wattage up on his smile.

"Yes." She smiled back, tentatively.

"Your name is Myshka, I believe." She nodded. Kyroo continued. "I've forgotten all of the others' names but yours has stuck with me for some reason. Why do you think that is?"

"I remember your name too." She dipped her head, pawed her hair back out of her eyes and peeked at him from under her arm. "It is David Sue-mar-suet"

Kyroo laughed. She was certainly laying the innocent act on thick. "Just call me David, please."

"David." She said. "It is a good name."

"I was watching you play." He said as if he was confiding some secret to her. "You looked quite nice, really stood out among all those older mice."

"I was watching you too."

"Really!" He said, climbing onto the stage to stand in front of her. He had to look down to meet her big, soft, brown eyes. "I was wondering, how did one so young and pretty come to be in such a famous orchestra?"

"My father."

"Your father taught you how to play so well?" His smile did not falter nor did his voice betray the lie.

"No, my father is the conductor. He owns the company." She looked away and sighed. "He does not trust me to behave so he drags me along and forces me to play all the concerts so he can keep an eye on me." She turned back to Kyroo and put a paw on his chest. "But he can't watch me all the time." She added with a sly smile.

His daughter! A second rate flautist who did not really care to be there. That would explain the resentment of the older, more accomplished musicians. She could be lying, but the story would be easy to verify. With the kinesics training he had received at the Academy Kyroo could tell if the others were telling the truth or just repeating a story they had been ordered to tell. Kyroo would follow up, but he was already certain that she was telling the truth.

"You are from Amerika?" She asked.

"Yes, New York." Kyroo decided to keep the conversation going. She was sure to be familiar with her father's orchestra and could be a valuable source of information as to who had recently joined the company. "Have you ever been there?"

"No. But I have been to this concert hall several times before. I know it very well. I saw you looking about. I know of a few secret places that the manager probably did not show you. Would you like to see them?"

"I'd love to see them." He told her. Kyroo knew from playing the local schools back when he was in the band that every auditorium had its quirks and crannies. Perhaps the real assassin was setting him or herself up in one of them right now.

She giggled and took him by the paw. "Come, follow me."

She led him down off the stage and around to the end of the first row of seats. They were directly below the first loge. She pressed the edge of a mirrored panel and large section swung open toward them. She pulled him inside and closed the secret door behind them.

Kyroo found himself in a small room, about three meters by four. There were electronic connections and sockets along the side wall. Cables, microphones and headphones hung from pegs on the opposite wall. A couple of folding tables leaned against the back wall, behind an old black leather couch and a couple of swivel chairs. The front wall was all glass, see-through glass he realized. There were small spot lights in the ceiling, and they were off at the moment, but the room was dimly illuminated by what little light that was not reflected by the mirrored surface outside.

"This space is used by the director and the special effects technicians during opera performances." Myshka told him. "They can see everything on stage from here and set of the smoke devices and small explosions that are used to enhance some of the more dramatic operas. Wagner's works in particular."

Kyroo could imagine what some of those Nordic sagas would look like with a full pyrotechnic display, a bit like a heavy metal concert. He looked up to see if there was any way to access the loge above and did not notice the much shorter mouse approach until he felt a paw on him. Having dismissed the possibility that she was the assassin he had let his guard down, and the touch almost made him jump out of his fur. But not from fear. The touch was not the sharp slide of a shiv into his side, or the prick of a poisoned pen in his pelvis. It was a warm paw between his legs, high up between his legs, gently squeezing his balls, as a matter of fact. Kyroo looked down.

Myshka's mouth was open, her breathing was ragged and her eyes were glazed She was pressing her small breasts against his abdomen as her paw worked its way up to the bulge in his pants, a bulge that was already growing longer and harder. Her whip-like tail was swaying back and forth behind her.

"Gee, Myshka." Kyroo put a paw on hers and tried to push it way, but she was persistent. "I don't want to give you the wrong impression. You are, uh, very desirable and all but, wouldn't you like to just talk, about the orchestra maybe?"

"You want to know about the orchestra," she rubbed her big soft ears and her little pink nose on his shirt, "so you decide whether to book them in your concert hall, the famous 'Met', yes?"

"Yes, that's it exactly. I didn't mean to lead you on. I'm all business, really."

"I am not." She pulled the zipper down on his pants and deftly inserted a small paw. "That is why Papa keeps such a close eye on me."

She had found the opening in the front of his shorts and her paw made contact with the bare skin on his penis. It made him shudder. As delightful as it felt to be stroked by the soft, padded digits he had a job to do and he continued to try to push her away.

"I don't think we should ..."

She stopped and looked up at him. "You want to know about the orchestra. Papa has no secrets from me, I can tell you all about it .... after." Her paw recommenced stroking.

"Okay." He surrendered. She would be an excellent source, and there were a few hours to kill. How long would it take to make love to her anyway? He lowered his head and put his lips on her mouth.

The newest agent in F.O.X. had not completed the full range of training yet. He still had to do advanced seduction in particular, but it looked like he would not need to rely on those special techniques because the mouse was more than eager. She was already undoing his trousers and pulling them down as she sucked his tongue into her mouth. Before the kiss broke his shorts had followed the pants to pool about his ankles. He toed off his shoes and shoved the discarded clothing to one side. His cock was sticking out like a pink baton and she rubbed it slowly, wrapping her paw around the knob with each stoke. Her other paw went to the buttons on his shirt and soon the cool air inside the control room was making his nipples hard.

He found the zipper on the back of her dress and pulled it down until it reached her tail and there it came off. He pulled the top down and she took a half step back to let it fall to the floor. A moment's work on the catch of her bra and it joined the dress on the floor. She kicked off her shoes. He started to unwrap the scarf from around her neck but she stopped him.

"Leave it." She said, backing up until he came in contact with the old leather couch in the middle of the room. She eased herself down onto it and leaned back against the armrest. Her white fur was even more brilliant against the black of the scarf and her lace panties. The pink of her ears, nose and nipples shone out as the sole spots of colour in the dim room. "Come here." She demanded.

Kyroo did not hesitate. He shrugged off his shirt as his cock led him to her. He sat on the edge of the couch and put am arm on either side of her. Then he leaned down and kissed her again. This time, after a bit of tongue wrestling, he let the kiss wander along the line of her jaw, down her neck, and jumping over the scarf that hung loosely around her shoulders, to her chest. She moaned as he took the whole of one small breast into his mouth and teased the nipple harder with his tongue. He drew back, dragging his lips across the fuzz of white fur and ended up sucking on her erect teat. Then he did the same for the other breast.

Her head was thrown back over the armrest, her arms spread and clutching the soft leather as if she had to hang on least she be washed away. He kissed the tender patch between her breasts and followed the line of raised fur down her belly and briefly tasted her naval before continuing. Coming to the edge of her panties he leaned back, took his weight off his arms and hooked his digits into the elastic material at the top. Pulling gently, with her helping by lifting her hips off the couch, he teased them down her thighs, following with his warm lips. When they reached her knees he pulled raised her legs and pulled the black silk off, but he took her ankles in his paws, separating them as his lips travelled back to where her legs met.

He turned his head from side to side as it descended toward her sex, paying equal attention to the sensitive skin behind the knees and inside the thighs of each leg. The further down he went the sparser her fur became, and more and more of the pink skin showed though. He continued until he ran out of leg and was faced with a plump mound of bare pink flesh. A mound that was split and aromatic. His tongue explored that slit and the mound parted slightly for it, inviting it inside. Kyroo complied, sealing his lips around it as her legs bent and rested on his shoulders.

He was on his knees on the floor now, and when he opened his eyes the gentle rise of her abdomen and the swell of her breasts topped by pink nipples filled his field of view. Her head was up as she watched his mouth on her, and her arms were straight out as she dug her digits into the thick white fur between his ears. Her eyes were half closed but her mouth was open, gasping for air. Kyroo dug his tongue in deeper, closed his eyes and ignored the ache in his expectant loins.

She was wet with his saliva and a fair amount of her own juices by the time he raised his head from her crotch and crawled onto the couch between her legs. His stiff prick quivered in the space between them as he inched along the couch. Would she back out at the last second? Would she demand that he use a condom? If so he was out of luck, not having anticipated this outcome so early in the mission. As he was much taller than her his head was level with hers before the tip of his cock made contact with the open lips of her sex. He looked down for any sign of reluctance but found none. Easing forward, he dipped his hips so that the tip brushed the damp leather before bringing it up along the line between her buttocks, over the sensitive anus and up to the slippery slit.

She grunted, shifted her hips slightly to line herself up with him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Then she pulled him toward her. Kyroo shifted his weight so that his hips swung forward and sighed as the hot flesh of her twat surrounded his cock and took it in. He worked it into her tight hole a little at a time, spreading the lubricating juices she was providing along his length. When he felt his balls contact her furry ass he raised his tail, closed his eyes, arched his back. He pulled out so that just the tip remained inside her and prepared to drive it back in hard and fast.

"Wait!"

He froze in that awkward position. "Wha-." He opened his eyes and look down. She had moved her scarf up around her neck and was holding the two ends out toward him.

"Take these." She said, excitement lighting up her eyes. "Take them and pull until I can hardly breathe."

Kyroo pulled all the way out and knelt on the cushion between her legs. "I don't know if I can do that." He told her. And he meant it. He had read about erotic asphyxiation and how some creatures used it to heighten the intensity of their orgasms, but they did not teach it at the Academy until the Advanced Sexual Techniques Course, which he had not attended. He knew from his reading that it was a dangerous practice and that many had died either doing it solo or at the paws of inexperienced partners. He had been authorized to kill on this mission but not like this, and he still needed her to talk afterwards.

"Put your elbows on the armrest on each side of my shoulders and pull until you see me gasping for breath," she told him, "and then pull a little bit more. If you see my paws go to my throat or if I slap you on the back loosen it up a bit. If my skin turns blue loosen it up a lot." She forced the ends of the black silk into his paws.

Kyroo looked at the scarf with skepticism. He had been taught how to use everyday articles like this as weapons. He knew how to garrote and strangle and choke, and even decapitate if necessary. There was no holding back when you went for a kill, and he was worried about going too far. She could see the hesitation in his eyes.

"It's alright." She assured him. "I've done this hundreds of times, not always with a boy. This is why I have to travel with Papa. My Mama walked in to my room one day last year when I did not answer right away. I could not answer because when you are on the edge of unconsciousness you can hear nothing but the rushing of the blood in your veins. She found me on the floor with a stocking wrapped around my neck and tied to the bedpost, and with my paw halfway up inside me. It was too much for her. She could not watch me all the time while Papa was away so she shipped me off to join his orchestra. He does not know exactly why Mama sent me, he thinks that I might have been dating the wrong type. Now I have to share a room with an aunt who plays the cello and I am never allowed to go out on my own."

"But I am more clever than them." The shy smile was back. "I knew if I played poorly enough papa would keep me back for a lecture, he loves music more than he loves me. His lectures can last an hour, but when I accuse him of hating me he cuts them short. Now my Aunt has gone back to our room thinking that I am still with Papa and he thinks that I am back in the room with her. And I am with neither." She put her arms around his torso and pulled him down until his weight was back on his elbows. "I am with you, and I need this." The look she gave him was half pleading, half demanding. She pushed his forearms apart until the scarf pressed down on the fur around her neck.

Kyroo gulped. Laid out below him open and expectant, naked save for the black slash of cloth across her throat, she looked so desirable. His erection, which had softened while she talked, was back, and his cock was sniffing about at the entrance to her sex like a police hound who has cornered a burglar. She took her paws off his arms and lowered them to his hips, digging ere digits into the fur so she could urge him in. Her eyes were half closed again, her mouth half open as she licked her lips and made encouraging noises. The smell of her sex rose between them and caught his nose. Kyroo could not take anymore.

What the hell, he thought, if she stops breathing I can always apply mouth-to-mouse resuscitation.

He wrapped the thin cloth once around each paw and began to pull. The loop closed, applying pressure to her throat. She smiled, gratefully, and pulled harder at his hips. He shuffled toward her and felt her cunt snatch the tip of his cock in its tender folds. She worked her butt up his hard thighs as he inched forward, taking his length in slowly. When he was fully seated inside her he stretched his legs out behind him so that all his weight was on his elbows and toes. Her legs were bent double and spread wide so that her sex was wide open to him. Pushing back with his arms and arching his hips made him retract. Relaxing his hips and pushing with his toes mad his cock slide back in again, and he adjusted the angle slightly so that it rode across her clit the whole way. The muscles in his abdomen stood out like a washboard under its thin layer of fur but he knew he could keep this position for more than a hundred stokes, and he had never heard of a female who was already hot and excited that could last more than eighty five, if they were done right.

He pulled the scarf tighter and commenced drilling her like a Texan in an oil patch.

Myshka gasped for air, sometimes seeming to get none at all into her as Kyroo pumped slowly above her. He found that it was easy to regulate the tightness of the scarf with his arms braced in the soft padding of the leather couch. He added pressure, easing off when her paws fluttered toward her neck, adding more when the cloth loosened from the sweat coming off his paws. Meanwhile he tried to enjoy the sensation of having nothing but his cock in contact as he held his body up off her. It was a wonderfully intense feeling, especially since the air in the little room was chilly from an air conditioning system designed for a room full of warm electronics and technicians. In and out it slid, now hot and tight, now cool and free.

He looked down along her to see how she was taking this, and to check for signs of asphyxiation. Her little breasts were heaving as her lungs fought to draw in air, but their nipples were stiff and pink, there was no shortage of oxygen in the blood yet. Looking further down he saw his red swollen cock rising and falling, disappearing inside her and growing back to almost its full length before slowly disappearing again. Then something caught his eye, something moving in the background. His head spun around and his eyes locked on the spot.

His heart leaped in his chest as he saw her father walking around on the stage, calling out, probably searching for her. He could not understand why he could not hear him at first, and then he remembered the one-way glass and the sound-proof room.

His rhythm faltered and his cock threatened to wilt. He was having a difficult time performing with her father in sight, even if the older mouse could not see or hear them. His senses told him that he was doing the conductor's daughter in full view and his head was having a hard time convincing them that here was no danger, mostly because he didn't believe it himself. What if Mishi knew about this room and opened it up for a peek inside? It would look like his daughter was being raped and strangled by the American stranger, a stranger who's story would not hold up for more time than it took to call the Met.

"David ..." Myshka gasped. He had let the scarf go slack as he stared back over his shoulder at her father. "What is -cough- wrong?" She lifted her head and looked out through the fake mirror. "Ah, I see. This is almost as good as the scarf. Continue, darling. Make me cum while Papa looks for his innocent daughter. Do me, do me now."

She locked her thin ankles around his waist and flexed her legs so that his cock, still swollen if not rock hard anymore, slid back into her. Throwing her head back, she turned it so that she could keep an eye on her father as she pumped him. Using her paws, she urged Kyroo to put pressure on the scarf again.

Kyroo fought hard to keep what was left of his erection. He thought about old conquests, about his first time, about the things that his supervising agent Delores "Babydoll" Johnson did to him. Then he thought about the first time he had made love on a leather couch, a blue one, and the tall scarlet vixen that was now off limits to him. That did the trick. That episode had been full of excitement and danger and it had been the best sex in his life, so far. Recalling the scene where she had almost killed him with a freshly sharpened pencil while their naked genitals had been rubbing like illicit lovers brought his erection back to full strength.

Kyroo took a firmer grip on the silk and pulled it tight, but not too tight. She would want to see out on to the stage until the last second. He loaned his strength to the pumping, driving deep into her as he slammed her repeatedly down on to the padded leather cushion. He arched his back so that he could kiss and suck her nipples as they both neared climax.

She came first, with a string of harsh Russian expletives that must have been half swear words, he was sure. How she managed to spare the air for them he would never know. One moment she was half conscious, watching her father wander the stage scratching his head through eyes that were just slits and the next moment she was wrapped around him and squeezing his cock with her hungry cunt as jets of fiery female cum soaked his balls. He did not know if it was the lack of oxygen or just her typical orgasm, but she continued to cum in great shuddering waves as he pounded her pussy.

Finally, he could hold back no more. He took three more quick shallow stokes and them buried his prick deep inside her so that his spooge flooded back along his length. The heat of it set her off one last time and he felt like her twat was trying to milk him, and perhaps it was. He felt it clutch and squeeze until every last drop had been drained from him. Then she lay still, very still.

He collapsed onto the couch, his larger body pinning her down on the soft cushions. He remembered to release the scarf before he did, and was relieved to hear her draw in a great lungfull of air. He rolled on his side so that there was no weight on her chest or diaphragm. He watched her colour come back as she returned to full consciousness while he licked her nipples and caressed her thighs.

He took a peek out of the room. The stage was bare. Papa had moved on to look for his daughter elsewhere.

Myshka uttered a few soft words in Russian before remembering that he did not understand the language. Then she switched to English, expressing her thanks and awe at how impressive the orgasm had been. Kyroo continued to stoke and kiss her sensitive spots until she was finished.

"You are going to have to find some place to clean up before father sees you." He suggested.

"I think that it would be more fun to let him catch me." She giggled. "He will be enraged for days."

"Ah, but that would not be fair to the rest of the orchestra, would it? He can't conduct properly with his mind elsewhere and if he is upset the musicians will pick up on it and their playing will suffer. It could ruin their chances of ever playing at the Met."

She pursed her lips. "I suppose I should be fair, even though most of them hate me. I did not earn my way into the company, you see."

"The harmony of the group is important to the harmony of the music." He cringed inwardly, not believing he had actually said that. "Are there others in the same situation? New members who got on through, I don't know, political influence?"

She tilted her head in thought. "No, not really. The only new player is Hans, on trombone, but he is very good, and very nice. He replaced one of our regular players who fell on the subway platform and broke both his wrists. Tragic. This is Hans' first time as a concert player. Since the Warsaw Pact days he has been, how do you call it in English? A musician that plays on the street for money?"

"A busker?"

"Yes, that is the word, one of those. They travel across the continent like gypsies. Papa said that even before the fall of the Soviet Union musicians like Hans could find ways across the borders. A coin or two in some police officer's pocket and no one would bother him."

Something was tugging at the back of Kyroo's mind. "How did he end up joining the orchestra? Did he answer an audition call?"

"No, he just showed up on the day we found out about poor Frederic, looking for work. He played some of the music we are performing on the tour by heart for Papa and he was very good. Papa said it was like he had been rehearsing for the job, but Hans has an amazing repertoire. Funny that he uses that particular trombone though."

"Funny?"

"Yes. It is a Tenor-Bass with an F attachment, an unusual instrument that has a wide range, but he hardly ever uses it, the F attachment I mean. I think that there is only one piece in this whole concert where he needs it."

Old music theory classes floated up from the depths of Kyroo's memory. Something about what they called the device that engaged the extra length of tubing, and which gave that particular trombone its nickname. But he wasn't sure that his memory was correct. He turned to Myshka, who seemed to know more about the instrument than he did.

"What do they call the valve that engages the F tube, do you know?"

"Yes. It is called like the thing on a gun. The piece you pull to fire the gun."

"A trigger?"

"Exactly. That type of trombone is called a "trigger trombone".

"Really." Kyroo suddenly wanted to get out of that room and use his tablet. He pretended to be interested in the string section while he pulled on his clothes and helped her back into hers. At the false door he kissed her tenderly and asked her to play her best, suggesting that then maybe they could see each other in New York. She beamed at the prospect and promised not to embarrass her father or her colleagues. Kyroo sent her off with a pat on the bum and walked as fast as he could to the nearest males' washroom.

Locking the outer door behind him he pulled out his tablet and turned it on. As soon as it was ready he established a secure connection to F.O.X. Headquarters and got Kain Algorath, the computer hacker and internet research genius on the line.

"Kain? Kyroo here. Can you run a cross check between all the known hits of an ex-KGB assassin known as "The Trigger" and any music festivals, street festivals or holiday celebrations in the vicinity of the killings."

"Sure." His fellow arctic fox said as his digits flew across a keyboard six thousand miles away. "Hey! It looks like you're on to something here. Looks like close to eighty percent of the hits were done during festivals or street events of some kind."

"What about the rest?"

"All over the place. Subway stations, street corners, parks. Mostly in the evenings."

Kyroo thought a bit. "Were they, like, tourist areas? Places that street musicians would be a common sight?"

"Let me see." For a moment Kyroo could only hear the sound of the claws on keys. "Sure. The subways allowed buskers, and the others were in trendy, arty districts where a sax or trumpet player with their case open for spare change would not look out of place. What are you thinking?"

"I'll let you know if it pans out."

"And we'll hear it on the news if it doesn't. Good luck." The connection closed.

Kyroo stripped down and cleaned himself off, using the paw dryers to blow his fur dry. Then he pulled his clothes back on and went back into the hall. It was dark and quiet. He could hear someone fumbling around in the flies, heard a curse and realized that it was Bringer, still checking out non-existent sniper positions. The stage was set for the evening performance, the larger instruments in their stands waiting for the musicians to show up. Kyroo slid up onto the stage and walked quietly around to the brass section. There were no trumpets, but the tubas were there, as were the trombones. He recognized Hans' unique instrument among them.

Dropping to the stage, Kyroo examined the rare horn. He had never seen one up close. There was an extra couple of loops of brass tubing inside the part that sat on the musician's shoulder. A trigger-like device that could be pulled with a digit on the left paw was attached to a rotary valve. The _F_tubing made a smooth junction with the main tubing at the valve. Kyroo took out a small flashlight and examined the extra tubing closer. The different sections were held together by nickel-plated joints. The one that would have been right beside the player's face seemed to have a hinge half hidden between the attachment and the start of the bell.

Kyroo pried the lid up with one claw. Inside the F tube, waiting for the musician to depress the trigger, was a short shaft of steel with a wickedly sharp tip and little fins for flight stability. The tip had a bluish tint which reminded Kyroo of the neurotoxins they had studied in Basic Poisons back at the Academy. It was short enough to travel unimpeded through the wide curves in the tubing, and there was a puff of white fluff to serve as wadding. And just to make sure that there was enough air pressure to send the dart across the stage, there was a CO2 cylinder behind it. It had a small electric device on the tip and wires that must run back to the trigger, Kyroo figured.

After closing the compartment, carefully least he dislodge the dart and poison himself, Kyroo rested his head on his crossed arms and thought about what he should do now. He could not remove the dart because the Trigger was sure to check that it was ready before the concert. Besides, the assassin may have more darts. He could not just kill the mouse and disappear, the Swiss were sure to catch him and Silver had said to avoid a diplomatic incident. He sighed, guessing that he would have to take the unoccupied seat beside 727 and try to intercept the dart with a copy of the program. But what if the just deflected it into another patron? Or if the Trigger did indeed have more darts? How many shots was that CO2 cylinder good for? Kyroo did not like the plan, but it was the best that he had for now. He got to his knees and checked the sheet music that the assassin would be playing.

There it was, right in the middle of the crescendo for the last movement of Night on Bald Mountain, the finale of the concert. The only note that the trigger had to play on the F attachment. All the horns would be up, the volume would be high. The gas would propel the dart through the tubing until it widened at the bell. Then the wadding would fall away and the missile would zip unseen across the stage and into the chest of the suspecting traitor. 727 would feel a sting before drifting into unconsciousness. He may collapse or simply fall back into the comfortable padded chairs the loges were equipped with. The attendants would probably not check on him until the rest of the hall was clear. Meanwhile Hans would disappear, his association with the orchestra of Mikhail Mishi at an end.

Kyroo checked the music again to make sure that there was no other instance of the note. There was not. It appeared once and once only, just before a pause that was followed by a fanfare that would take all the air the musician could draw in during the pause. Kyroo remembered playing sequences like that, where he had to hold the horn in front of his wide open mouth while he gulped one huge breath of air before catching the mouthpiece with his lips and continuing with the music. He recalled how once he had not taken the horn completely off his lips before drawing in air and had made an embarrassing noise in the middle of a concert. He smiled at the image. Then his smile froze.

Could it be possible? He looked back to the instrument. Yes, he thought, this just might work.

* * * * * * * *

Captain Bringer found Kyroo sitting in the seats that Mishi had procured for them. It was thirty minutes before the concert was due to begin and the musicians were just taking to the stage to tune their instruments and gossip about what the various members had been up to during the break. The skunk dropped into his seat beside the younger fox with a huff. He was covered in dust and cobwebs from his foray in the rafters.

"You missed the rendezvous." Bringer complained.

"Find anything?" Kyroo asked, ignoring the criticism.

"Nothing definite." Kyroo was not surprised; he doubted that Bringer could find a lit candle in a dark room. "How about you?" Bringer asked.

"I've eliminated the flautist as a suspect. She is the daughter of the conductor and that's why she's still in company despite her weak performance."

"Did you get a chance to ask her about the rest of the musicians?"

Kyroo smiled. "I pumped her for information. She was reluctant to talk but I squeezed a few things out of her."

"And? What did you find out?"

"The mouse playing the tenor-bass trombone, Hans, he is the Trigger."

"How can you be sure?"

Kyroo told him about the Trigger's cover as a busker and the coincidences between is past assassinations. He finished by describing the alterations on the "trigger" trombone.

"He's as crazy as you F.O.X. agents if he thinks that that will work." Bringer snorted.

"He has done this before," Kyroo reminded him, "with great success."

"If that's the case why aren't you up in the loge protecting the target?" He pointed, a bad move, but Kyroo was watching Hans closely and the assassin was not looking their way when he did it. 727 was in his seat now too. He was a youngish snow leopard, from the eastern regions probably, Kyroo thought, where they have little love for the Russians.

"It's okay." Kyroo assured the military skunk. "I've fixed it."

"Now, what have you done?" Bringer was indignant. "You're supposed to clear everything through me first."

"I didn't have time. You were off looking for sniper nests and I had to act fast before the orchestra came back on stage."

The Captain did not even bother asking what Kyroo had done, he just waved a digit at him and said "Whether your scheme works or not, there will be a report on your insubordination filed with the National Security Adviser."

"Whatever fills your boots." Kyroo replied, corrupting an expression he had heard Silver use when he was giving a student the option of reconsidering or carrying on a course to certain disaster. "They are about to start. Why don't we enjoy the music while we can?"

They settled down into an unfriendly silence.

Kyroo almost lost himself in the music. All of the sections were playing exceptionally well. Even Myshka was earning some smiles from her father and the musicians in her section. He winked at her when she looked at him at the start of the intermission. The rest of the time he kept his eyes on Hans, holding his breath each time the rodent ran his paws over the tubing of his instrument, praying that he would not examine it too closely. It took all of his nerve and some yogic breathing exercises to keep from sweating as the orchestra progressed toward the finale.

Finally it came. The brooding melody, the rush of the strings as they built towards the crescendo. The horns came up, they blared as they joined in. Now every musician on stage was playing as fast and as hard as they could. The fanfare arrived, and then the conductor cut it off with a sweep of his arms. There was silence, and then there was the roar of the crowd as they clapped and took to their feet for a standing ovation.

No one in the audience seemed to notice that there was one less head in the back row at the right of the stage. But the rest of the brass section did. They signalled for someone off stage to hurry over and a weasel with a first aid kit appeared. Mishi was still taking his bows as the orchestra behind him parted to reveal the medic hammering on the fallen trombonist's chest. The clapping faltered. Cries of distress replaced the whistles and bravos.

Kyroo heard a patron behind him comment. "Poor chap. Must have had a heart attack. Not surprising what with the way they were playing. Best concert I've been to in years. Shame about him though. I do hope that he's okay."

I doubt it, Kyroo thought to himself. Swallowing a dart tipped with curare tends to ruin one's day, old chap.

Confusion reigned both on stage and off. Half of the audience wanted to stay and watch the drama unfold, the rest wanted to leave in case whatever the trombonist had succumbed to was contagious. Kyroo joined the half that was departing, forcing his way past the morbid spectators.

"What did you do?" Bringer hissed from behind him.

Instead of answering him, Kyroo posed a question. "You ever fire the Fabrique National FAL assault rifle?"

"Of course. We had a version of it in the Canadian Army before we switched to the C7 Colt. It was a very accurate rifle."

"You know what happens when you turn the gas valve around the wrong way?"

"Yes. Instead of letting the gas out the relief ports it sends it back down the cylinder toward the shooter. The recoil and break your shoulder if you are not holding it correctly." A cruel grin came over the skunk's face. "We used to do that to recruits, to initiate them."

"Well, I did sort of the same thing to him. I took the valve on the trombone apart and put it back in backwards. Instead of directing the gas further along the tube and out the bell it sent the dart back up around the slide and into his open mouth as he sucked air for the final fanfare. It won't take the corner too long to find it when they bring the body to the hospital, so we better high tail it back to the airport so I can catch my plane." The cargo flight was waiting on Kyroo to depart. Hopefully they would clear of Swiss airspace before the security services connected the death in the concert hall to him.

"You've gone too far. This is my jurisdiction and I'll be lucky to get declared persona non grata for this fiasco. Your Director will hear about this."

Of course he will, Kyroo thought, because it will all be in my report, including the lack of assistance from Captain Canada here. But he would get headquarters on the secure line long before that and give Silver the gist of the operation. He did not think that the old silver fox would have any trouble convincing the Swiss that it was all for the best, after all, no one had lifted a claw to the Trigger, he had killed himself. A fortunate equipment malfunction; too old for this kind of work, I suspect. No, no idea who the target was.

They were in the parking lot and Bringer, upset over the young fox's insolent silence grabbed him by the arm and swung him around. Kyroo's paws came up instinctively for a killing blow but he stopped them before they could make it halfway to the Captain's throat. It was hard because he was filled with a strange sort of energy, in an exuberant, excited state. How come killing someone makes you feel so alive? He wondered.

Kyroo grinned back at the skunk, infuriating him further. But the army officer had seen how fast the paws come up, and the great amount of restraint that it took to stop them. He sulked, not daring to start a fight with someone who he believed would kill him just for fun. All these F.O.X. agents are psychos, he told himself. But he could not keep his mouth from one last surly comment.

"One day, lad, someone is going to do you a favour and beat the living daylights out of you."

"Well, until someone does," Kyroo exclaimed, snatching the car keys out of Bringer's paw. "I'll drive."